The holotank chimed. Annadelle's anxious face filled the interior, and for some reason Natty was reminded of an ancient pre-Emergence film, in which a wicked witch conjures the image of a young girl into a great glass globe. Annadelle was a grown woman, but there was a similar air of worried innocence about her.
«Natty,» she said. «We have the second call. I'm sending a copy.»
«Good,» he answered.
She hesitated. «Do you have anything? Anything at all?»
«Well. Tell me this, iffen you can. Do you think the Sirians were jest looking for an excuse? To fry us?»
«Oh, of course. They're the most xenophobic space-faring race we've met with yet. But they have to have a good reason, or the civilized races would see to it that they got bombed back to the swamp.»
«Religious insults ain't a good enough excuse, I take it?»
«Heavens no, Natty. If that were an acceptable reason to go to war, the universe would long ago have been blown to kingdom come. So to speak.»
He liked it that she retained her wit, even in such grim circumstances. An interesting woman.
«I see. No, I ain't got nothing useful yet, jest some supposins and suspicions. Shoot me that second recording, and I'll get on with it.»
«All right.»
* * *
Natty watched as the Ambassador punched in the next number.
The destination field filled with a thousand hues, mingling and diverging in a whirling explosion of color. Atonal music, harsh and compelling, shuddered forth.
The image field flickered and coalesced, revealing a man with tangled spangle-braids and deep brooding eyes. «Interior Explorations Inc.,» he said, in a resonant baritone. «How may we aid you in your psychic travels?»
The Ambassador leaned forward, his jaw jutting aggressively. «In that respect, I am sufficiently well-traveled. But show me your wares anyway, death merchant.»
The spokesman scowled, and the transmitted image was enhanced so that his eyes glowed with dark red light. « 'Death merchant'? You got an attitude problem, scaly dude. We don't sell death; quite the contrary. We sell dckets to your interior landscape–psychoactive chemicals tailored to your particular needs, whatever they may be.»
The Ambassador snorted dismissively. «I know you, monstrous creature. Your chemicals promise paradise, but deliver hell. This I know from the holodramas produced by your own regulatory agencies.»
«You believe everything you see on the datastream, then?» Now the spokesman had an unpleasant edge to his voice, and a sneer curled his lip.
The Ambassador seemed to swell. «Intolerable! You will pay for this disrespect, worm of corruption. But first, show me what you can offer one of my exalted species. Then I will schedule your humiliation and destruction, as is proper.»
The spokesman sighed. «Whatever, scaly dude. Let me run up a few parameters, and then I'll get back to you, okay.»
He cut the connection.
Natty was puzzled. No deliveries had been made to the Ambassador's suite; so much was certain. Either the druggists had failed to come up with a suitable high for the Ambassador, or he had died before they had synthesized a suitable compound.
In any case, it seemed a dead end.
Natty sat back and stretched. There was a pattern here, if only he could see it.
He sighed. So far it seemed that the Ambassador was exploring all the weaknesses of human beings, hoping to find something so disgusting that the other space-faring races couldn't object to a bit of racial prophylaxis.
He closed his eyes, and tried to make his mind empty. Something tickled at him, the ghost of an idea.
And then he had it.
* * *
Natty called Annadelle. «Iffen I can tell you who the Ambassador talked to last, can you get a recording of the call afore the General gets here?»
«Yes,» she said. Natty could see that she wanted to believe there was hope.
He laughed, and a huge smile of relief stretched his face, almost painfully. «It's going to be okay, Annadelle. No kidding.»
* * *
Annadelle's henchman hurried General Lisefgethmeor along the corridor, occasionally nudging the Sirian with a huge punch-gun. The General wore self-contained armor, a helmet in the semblance of some toothy predator, and spike-knee boots.
Natty and Annadelle followed a few paces behind.
The General snarled over his massive shoulder. «You can kill me if you like, but a thousand other bulls will step forward to take vengeance. And as a martyr to our great cause, my frozen zygotes will impregnate many females. A new permaglass breeding tower will be raised in my name. I have no fear of you puny creatures!»
Annadelle spoke soothingly. «No violence is intended toward your impressive person, General. As we said, we have determined the cause of the Ambassador's death to be accidental. We merely wish you to witness our proofs. We deeply appreciate your presence here; it will prevent a great deal of unnecessary bloodshed on both sides.»
The General's only response was a skeptical rumble.
* * *
They sat the General down before a large holotank, in a nmall theater reserved for VIP screenings.
«I cannot imagine what you think you can show me.»
«Probly not,» said Natty Looper.
The General turned and glared at him. «Who is this offensive bumpkin?»
«This is the investigator who discovered the cause of death,» said Annadelle. «But now, give your attention to the tank, if you will.»
The General grunted. But he returned his small eyes to the tank.
* * *
The Ambassador tapped at his terminal.
The tank responded with a display of squirming, naked human bodies, a complicated tangle of flesh, framing the words: Hygienic Fantasies Unlimited.
«Disgusting,» said the Ambassador.
«Disgusting,» echoed the watching General.
The logo was replaced by a man and woman locked in a complicated sexual posture. «How may we assist you?» said the woman breathlessly. She seemed marginally less involved in the act; the man was red-faced and his eyes were glazed.
* * *
They watched the Ambassador contemptuously explain his requirements, they watched the progression of images that evolved in the holotank's image field, as the Hygienic computers tailored the experience to the Sirian ideal. They watched the Ambassador grow pale and silent.
They watched the Sirian female undulate against the basalt.
At the bottom of the image field, a slider bar ran the translation of the slurps and warbles that now emanated from the tank: GIVE IT TO ME BABY GIVE IT TO ME.
Natty cut off the recording, before the General could succumb to the culminating heaves and hisses.
He was for a moment concerned that he had not acted quickly enough; the General was almost motionless, except for a palsied waggle of his head, which slowly ceased.
Eventually Annadelle broke the silence. «I hope you will agree that the Ambassador's death was an unfortunate accident. Of course, you may choose to sue Hygienic Fantasies in civil court. A case might be made for negligence, or even reckless endangerment.»
The General darted a smoldering look at her. «You think this makes any difference? You have murdered a great soul; the weapon you used is irrelevant. We will burn the Earth clean with even greater enthusiasm than before.»
Annadelle shook her head, smiling. «No one forced the Ambassador to employ Hygienic; if you sue, their lawyers will argue that he knew the danger and made no effort to avoid it. But this is irrelevant. You will not attack the Earth or any habitats of the Orbital Domains.»
«And why not?» The General rose abrupdy, shook himself. He seemed slightly less impressive to Natty Looper; judging from his painfully stooped posture, he now suffered from an unimaginably intense case of the blue balls.
Annadelle gestured and her henchman drew the curtains from a huge observation port, which looked out into space.